


dusk is coming all too soon

by grisecklie



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Character Death, M/M, Supernatural AU - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 13:41:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19086193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grisecklie/pseuds/grisecklie
Summary: MLBPA, MLB Appoint New Independent Program AdministratorESPN News Services	2:48PM ESTTheMLBPAand theMLBin a move following arecent rulingby the MLB has appointed a new head to their joint committee on supernatural regulatory measures.The MLB has come down firmly on the fact that those with supernatural abilities who use them to enhance their game play are the same as players who use PEDs or other banned substances to enhance performance.Following similar regulations put in by theNFL, theNWHL, andMLS, the MLB and MLBPA have appointed Reverend Timothy Cleary, PhD to the head of the new committee.Details about the detection and penalties forthcoming.Update	10:31PM ESTRev. Timothy Cleary announced in his press conference that the Association of Judicators would be called on to assist with stamping out the abundance of supernatural players in the league.





	dusk is coming all too soon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saddestboner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saddestboner/gifts).
  * Inspired by [been looking for a savior (one to retaliate)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15779637) by [grisecklie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/grisecklie/pseuds/grisecklie). 



> written as a continuation of a short (3k) fic from the good baseball boys of summer exchange in 2018. 
> 
> title is from "where our shadows sleep" by sieges even. 
> 
> beta'd by [twentyfiveoclock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twentyfiveoclock).

It starts with a brief glimpse. Something maybe he shouldn’t have seen but perhaps James had known all along. There’s something sharp about the sense around him. Something _different_. Enough where it reminded James of someone he’d knocked around in the minors with. 

But it was different, in the minors. James was sure of it. Sure, it was _serious_ but not as serious as the majors. James had seen the evidence of it, Hernàn had been different too. Enough so that James _knows_ of it. 

It starts with the tattoo. 

There, when his undershirt rode up, James had seen it. Like something from an occult book, a circular sigil, decorated with runes that call to some primitive and ancient part of James. He feels what they say without knowing what the words are, like some biological memory seeping to the foreground. 

(He knows what it’s from; he’s read his family history. And the McCanns had been Puritans, witch hunters, back in the 1600s. So there’s the legacy, in Salem. He always feels the yearning inside of him stronger when they play in Boston.) 

So he _knows_. 

Then he pretends not to know, but he notices. 

It’s not as unsubtle as other people that he’s met. Other people in the minors who flaunt it, whose magic auras leave a spark of energy behind, luminescent but hard to see against the bright sun shining on the ballpark in the middle of summer. 

But if he squints, standing up behind the plate after a ball’s been knocked forward, he sees the gap between second and short, and he watches as something more potent than skill propels José across a swath of field, to make an impressive looking catch in a place he has no place being. 

It’s not quickness, it’s not normal speed. 

James _knows_. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

He knows in the minors it’s not monitored as much, it’s not as taboo, but in the majors it can be a career killer. Worse than PEDs.

(James is torn. He’s worked hard to be as good a player as he is, but he knows some of it is natural talent. A person with _magic_ is born with it innately. It can’t be learned, whatever books try and teach. So he thinks it’s unfair, but at the same time some people were magic. 

Then again, he wonders what causes someone to choose _baseball_ when all sorts of strange occult careers could be their calling too.) 

It’s fine he knows José’s secret, because he’s never going to tell José’s secret. 

Except for when _they_ come. 

Even scarier than the league management, or the commissioner, or the fans who argue the purity of the game. All of that could fade into background noise and be nothing but that kind of noise one quiets when they’re focusing. But _they’re_ different. 

James knows they’re from the same cloth. 

The Judicators. 

James knows of them. He has a distant cousin who kept on the witch-hunting path that works with them back East. But when they come sniffing around it’s never good. 

The head Judicator is a thickly muscled man, with wavy dark hair and pale skin. His mouth seems pulled in a permanent sneer, like something is under his nose that smells awful. It’s easy to tell them by the strange ways their eyes glow blue, whatever gives them their ability to sniff out and resist the prowess of a witch. James feels cold just knowing they’re nearby. 

In the clubhouse.

Searching. 

Gardenhire doesn’t take kindly to the intrusion. Obviously, there’s little need for more distraction to a team that’s already struggling. James doesn’t blame him. The MLBPA is still fighting that fight though, to ban the Judicators from the clubhouses. 

(At the end of last year, there’d been a huge blow-up about it, when the Judicators had taken the field during an NFL playoff game. As a stunned crowd watched in horror as they singled out the witch on the team. James doesn’t remember who it was, but he’s not sure that the kid had recovered. James remembers reading in history books how brutal the reapings could be.) 

The memories of hollowed out shells of people, and death, makes James want to close ranks even more. Makes him want to throw himself in front of José. But the truth of the matter is, he doesn’t know what will be done to him. 

“I don’t think you’re allowed to be in here.” James does stand up, for the moment. Feeling emboldened by the fact that Nick is up there with him, standing shoulder to shoulder, blocking the locker room off. 

“I don’t recall the laws changing.” The Judicator says. His voice is as sneering as his face. Nick frowns and James sees him from the corner of his eyes. 

“Regardless, ain’t no one allowed in this close to game time. Maybe if ya gotta press pass you can come in after.” James decides, this time, he’ll stand with Nick. The Judicator’s eyes narrow dangerously, the blue glimmering. 

“I can force my way in,” he says dully. 

“You ain’t gonna wanna do that,” James says, matching his tone. 

Realistically, James is as big as the Judicator is. Maybe a little thicker. Maybe a little taller.

The Judicator looks as though he's going to test his luck, that maybe he thinks the risk will be worth the reward. Something must make him rethink it though, because he just shakes his head and goes over to his few colleagues, whispering to them, and then James watches as they go bother Fenech, maybe about getting a press pass. 

James gives Nick a look, a little suspicious. 

"You know someone on the team who's a witch?" James asks. He tries to act nonchalant. Like, maybe, he isn't super curious, it's just an idle sense. Nick gives him a considering look and then shrugs his shoulders. 

"Nah, just don't like people getting in our fucking business. I just wanna play ball man, don't have time for all this bullshit," Nick says. He sounds sincere-- maybe. James isn't sure what to think. 

"Yeah, I wish the MLBPA would hurry up with that shit. I don't want to see something happen like the NFC Conference game, you know?" Jacoby appears out of nowhere, leaning against the wall, rolling a bat between his hands like he's nervous. 

James is curious. 

Do other people know? 

"Why, do you know someone?" 

"Not in the club, nah. But in the past." 

"Yeah, seems like it's a lot more common in the minor leagues," Nick says and he pops his gum and waves a hand, leaving James and Jacoby standing there, watching the door. 

"Why, do you?" Jacoby asks. James shakes his head. 

"No. I'm with Nick. Just ain't fond of everyone in the team's business." James hopes he's a better liar than he _feels_ like he is. Jacoby just nods slowly. 

"Yeah, we're not so far removed from the minor leagues that some of our friends who we know things about are gonna get the call up. It's only July now, but it's gonna be September soon." 

"Yeah…" James thinks about Hernàn in Milwaukee. Thinks about how the people treat Braun, wonders how he'll get treated if his secret gets out. He tries not to look at José, who is deep into his pregame ritual, head bobbing to music piping from his headphones, lacing his cleats up from the very first hole with a brand new pair of laces. José lines them up every time, so both sides are the same length. 

James doesn't look too long, cutting his gaze away to Nick. To Alex Wilson. To everyone still hovering around. 

"Why'd you stop those guys coming in?" Blaine is almost in Nick's face, his jaw set in a tight little line. Nick shrugs at Blaine. 

"I don't think I have to keep repeating myself. I was clear enough the first time." 

Blaine's frown deepens, but if Nick's bothered by it, he doesn't show it. Just shrugs his shoulders again and goes back to texting. Blaine turns his attention to Jacoby and James, who are still stationed by the door. Jacoby is tapping the head of the bat on the ground to the rhythm of the reggaeton playing from V-Mart's locker. He grips the barrel of it like he's going to swing. 

James looks between the two. 

"Just go sit down, Blaine," James says, planting his hand against his chest. He sees a spark in Jacoby's face like maybe he wants to fight, and he guides Blaine back to his own locker. 

"If there's someone that's a witch, they gotta go. It's practically cheating," Blaine says to James. He sees Boyd look up from his phone, the girlish laughter of his daughter emanating from the speakers. Matt's gaze shifts down almost immediately though, like he doesn't want to get caught. 

James suddenly feels on edge. 

(His job is to manage the pitchers, but there's some kind of glint in Matt's eyes too, his jaw going tight.) 

Blaine opens his mouth, but Matt cheerfully interrupts. 

"I always wondered if there were witchy pitchers you know. Mostly because 'pitch witch' sounds like a snazzy title. Also, some of those velo spikes… some of those breaking balls? It's like _damn_." 

Blaine's eyes narrow. 

"Pitch witch?" James repeats. Matt nods. 

He closes out of the video he was watching. 

"Doesn't it sound cool?" 

"It definitely sounds like something you think sounds cool." James's mouth twitches as he tries not to smile. Whatever animosity might be brewing is broken by the fact that Gardy comes to rally everyone up, and there's a game to focus on, so thoughts of witches are pushed aside as something more important comes into focus. 

James squats behind the dish-- and he notices that José is less off a show-off in the game. Still good, still solid-- but not light the world on fire good. 

James tries not to take note. 

*

The Judicators don't get a press pass. 

*

**MLBPA, MLB Appoint New Independent Program Administrator**  
 _ESPN News Services 2:48PM EST_  
The MLBPA and the MLB in a move following a recent ruling by the MLB has appointed a new head to their joint committee on supernatural regulatory measures. 

The MLB has come down firmly on the fact that those with supernatural abilities who use them to enhance their game play are the same as players who use PEDs or other banned substances to enhance performance. 

Following similar regulations put in by the NFL, the NWHL, andMLS, the MLB and MLBPA have appointed Reverend Timothy Cleary, PhD to the head of the new committee. 

Details about the detection and penalties forthcoming. 

_Update 10:31PM EST_   
Rev. Timothy Cleary announced in his press conference that the Association of Judicators would be called on to assist with stamping out the abundance of supernatural players in the league. 

*

José's shirt rides up some and there's only skin where his tattoo once was. 

*

They get James on his way into Comerica. 

One late July day, he's waylaid in the parking lot. He's sure it's illegal, but he's compliant. Quiet. As his elbows are grabbed and he's dragged into a rented building near the parking structure. There's a corkboard with player pictures on it, scrawls of notes everywhere, and pins in places with more notes. 

Like an attempt to find the piece that doesn't fit, and his stomach churns. Big red X's mark out the faces of those who have been cleared, so far. Blaine and VerHagen are the only ones that seem out of the woods. There are so many question marks, and James tries to rationalize who Nick might be protecting, who Jacoby might be protecting. 

The uneasiness is like a bitter taste in the back of his throat he can't quite swallow around. He can't make the acrid taste leave his tongue as the head Judicator, the sneering, self important one sits across from him with his hands folded in front of him, like they're going to pray. 

(His mind spells it with an E-- it's more fitting that way.) 

"I'm just going to ask you a series of simple questions, James. A few control questions." He moves his hand and slides his fingers around James's wrist. It's a simple gesture, but his fingers are so cold, or they feel like they're burning, and something about the whole situation makes James feel violated. 

James clamps down on his mind like it's the most precious thing ever. 

(It hurts to resist, he can feel the prying like pin pricks in his brain.) 

"Is your name James Thomas McCann?" 

"Yes." 

"Were you born in California?" 

"Yes." 

"Have you had your birthday this year?" 

"Yes." 

"Are you married?" 

"No." 

"Do you have any children?" 

James hesitates. 

"Yes." 

The Judicator frowns at him and writes something down, giving James a burningly curious look. James tries hard not to think of Christian and Kane. He banishes the thought from his mind, with a firm _later_. 

"Do you know of any witches on your team?" 

Hesitation, again. 

"No." 

The writing continues. James feels like he's going to bite through his tongue. 

"Have you ever witnessed magical enhancement while watching a baseball game, either your team, your farm teams, or on a television broadcast?" 

James thinks of magic sparking in a brilliant red, in a sizzling blue. James thinks about the barely glowing aura of dark midnight blue and soft warm orange. Night and day-- the colors of his team. 

"No." 

The Judicator's fingers slip away from his wrist. 

"You look like you have the Judicator's look in your eyes." He gestures to James's face and James shakes his head. 

"It was a long time ago, my family didn't really foster it. It's sort of like an appendix for me. Just kind of there, but not useful." James tries a laugh that rings hollow, like he feels right now. 

"We could teach you. It might be helpful to have someone on the inside." 

The thought makes James's guts feel like they've been put on ice. 

"No thanks." James goes to stand. "We good?" 

"If you're protecting someone, I _will_ find out." 

James doesn't react, but they don't stop him leaving. 

_hey jess… be careful out there. might wanna head back to tennessee with your brother._

James sends the text, feeling like he's going to throw up. 

**jimmy? is everything okay???**

_it's fine. take care of yourself and the boys_

*

**jimmy… some strange man came to the house. he seemed real interested in c &k. told him we couldn't stay. he was insistent.**

_are the boys alright?_

**yeah. i figured farther away the better. at mike's place in sb. boys are safe.**

_and you?_

**shaken up but okay. i went and saw your mom. remembered you telling me your family history. apparently ya got a knack for this kinda stuff. your great grandpa had a book… we got the charms need making, just gotta find someone to make 'em.**

James sends Jess details. 

_i know it's been a minute Hernàn, but if you don't mind doing a favor… sent my ex your info._

**_idk y u always getting me in trouble j._ **

**_but i guess i owe u 1._**

*

In Kansas City, they get in late and James decides where he's going to lay his loyalties. With Jess's confirmation the boys are safe.

He looks at the piece of paper the Judicator in Detroit had given him, with the tight cramped writing of who to call if he saw anything suspicious.

He raps on the door. 

José answers it, looking all the world like he's doing his level best to be relaxed. But there's a tension around his dark eyes that James is sure wasn't there before. His eyes glitter like obsidian. He steps aside to let James in though, shutting the door behind him. 

José doesn't relax. James can see the tension in his shoulders like leading off in the bottom of extra innings, when the other team already put up a run. Like a heavy, invisible weight. James's fingers itch with the desire to smooth his hands over his shoulders, and try and wipe the tension away. 

"I know," James says. It's not the best opening line, but he feels -- it says what it needs to say. "I didn't tell anyone. And I'm… I'm going to protect you." 

José turns to him. James can see the hazy red aura like he's on fire, just a pulse of red energy, ebbing and flowing in and out. 

"What?" José's incredulous. " _Why?_ " 

James doesn't know how to answer the question. 

"It's gonna be okay, Iggy. I promise." 

James doesn't know how else to leave it. José looks suspicious, then he sags with relief, he sinks down onto the edge of the bed and rubs his hands over his eyes. 

"I think… people know. But I don't know how. And -- and what if someone tells." 

James thinks about that room. 

"I've got your back. More than just me too." James promises. He sits down next to José and wraps an arm around his shoulders. 

He feels a yearning inside of him, burning like a fire low in his gut. José rests his head against James's shoulder. 

James doesn't know how long they stay like that. 

*

_"Let me do a reading for you." Hernàn's voice is tinged with laughter, and James knows he shouldn't give into these flights of fancy, but it's hard to resist, when Hernàn is tucked into his side, with their legs tangled together. It's dangerous to be so close, in the shared rooms that they have in the minors._

_Their roommates could come in at any minute, and this could end badly._

_"Come on, please?" Hernàn's voice is right at his ear, breath ghosting over the shell of it in a way that causes shivers down his spine._

_James couldn't resist._

_They sit in the middle of the floor, where Hernàn draws a circle with salt, and lights an incense stick that smells like sage._

__"You better not be smoking weed in there!" _One of the veterans that was rehabbing scolds them, causing the serious ritual to be derailed with fits of laughter, until Hernàn is wheezing and James feels tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes._

_When they get themselves back under control, Hernàn shuffles the cards he has, and lays out three of them face down._

_"So, in order, they represent your past, your present, and your future," Hernàn says. James leans in closer and nods intently, wondering what the cards are going to reveal for him._

_Hernàn flips the first card._

_The first card is a picture of swords, upside down, so James can see it clearly that it says the Ten of Swords._

_"This typically mean for survival. This make sense, because of your history." Hernàn nods thoughtfully. "You tell me about what you have to endure, I think, this far past for you. This your origin. How you almost died, but you didn't."_

_James sits in awe and leans a little closer._

_Hernàn flips the second one._

_"This one, your present. What you deal with now." The picture is of a woman in a crown, also facing James._ The Empress _. This causes Hernàn to frown and he looks uneasy for a moment. "This, your present, probably to represent your doubt. I know you been feeling like… like you not going to make it. Is your self doubt. Is going to lead to bad things ahead, the energy you put out."_

_James rubs at his knees and nods. Hernàn isn't wrong. He is dealing with a fair amount of doubt lately. September call-ups would be soon, and he's not sure he's going to be one of the few. He doesn't know if he'll ever make it. Which he's too young to feel that way. But he sees some of the older guys and it's difficult to stay positive._

_"Now, the future." Hernàn turns over the last card. The picture is upside down to James, which means it's right side up to Hernàn. There's a wizened looking old man with a jaunty pointed hat. James tries to read the upside down words. "The Magician."_

_Hernàn looks thrilled._

_"Is a good future. Can mean skill. Or action. Or power. Perhaps all three. I know, you gonna come out strong, out swinging, and you gonna make everyone including yourself regret the doubt." Hernàn grins at James. "You know what else is another name for a magician? Who may be in your future?"_

_James looks up and shakes his head. Hernàn flourishes a gesture at himself and throws himself into James's arms. The cards scatter all over the floor as James rolls Hernàn under him, and presses their mouths together._

*

"Do you do tarot readings?" James asks José this while they're on a plane back to Detroit. Most everyone else is asleep, but James has a lot on his mind. And he's sure that José does too. José gives him a look, something between annoyance and offense, and shakes his head quickly. 

"Not that kind of witch," he mumbles quietly. 

James looks up from the game he's playing on his phone and gives José a wry, conspiratorial smile. 

"So, you the type who lures kids into the woods and boils them?" 

José rolls his eyes at him. 

"Gonna get a teen girl and her little dog too?" 

"You finish?" 

James laughs, which makes José smile. For a moment-- it feels like it's before the stress. It's almost like back before July, when the worst thing happening was their losing streak, but José didn't look like that pressure was going to kill him. When José smiles it banishes the worry lines from around his eyes. 

James wants to make José laugh again. 

"So, you only use it for the game?" James asks. José shrugs and leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. He looks like he might shut down. Like he might ice James out, even though James is _trying_. 

"All I ever wanna do was play ball. My _abuela_ , she try and teach me all these things. Called them hedge witches and the like. But all I wanna do is play baseball. Is my whole life. And when I see, it give me what I need to make sure I make it. I think, is no different than being born with being athletic." 

James nods and reaches across the table. He rests his hand on José's. 

(He wonders, idly, if he can do that lie detector thing. He thinks about wrapping his fingers around José's wrist, and trying to ask him questions he doesn't know if he wants the answers to.) 

"I agree with you," James says quietly. 

José smiles again and it's genuine. 

James thinks about the magician in his future. 

*

**got the charms. working like a charm… ha ha**

_don't get too risky._

**won't. going to stay with kelsey down in okc. she wants to baby c &k anyways**

_hug and kiss the boys for me._

**i always do!**

*

**Washington Nationals' Max Scherzer First to be Suspended Under New Rules**   
_ESPN News Services 12:33PM EST_

Max Scherzer has been suspended for 80 games due to breaking the league's supernatural enhancement rules. It was determined by head Washington Judicator Alexis Browne that Scherzer was one of the suspected violators after recording a seventh consecutive season with 200+ strikeouts.

Judicators found that Scherzer had a focus in being able to bend the ball. Judicator Browne believes the ability was mostly used for the purpose of framing, or to make borderline pitches look legitimate. After reviewing the film through a special algorithm, there was enough evidence to launch an official investigation. 

Scherzer is being sent to a 7-day "reassignment" camp to have an assessment done on whether his abilities can be taken from him, or if he will have to retire. 

 

*

**holy fuck??? scherzer????**

_who is this?_

**did you delete me?**

James only sees a number he can't place, so he must have.

_uh…_

**jv…**

James winces. 

(He'd taken Verlander leaving a little hard.)

_oh yeah… crazy man._

**you know anything about these reassignment camps??? is max gonna be alright?**

_dunno. real fucked man._

*

The news about Max sends a wave through the Tigers clubhouse. James knows a lot of them weren't even here when he was a Tiger. But he has a reputation and James sometimes thinks that the walls itself retain the energies of former players. 

Even when they've spent more years elsewhere, James refers to people as former Tigers. 

He knows for a fact that Nick always has to correct himself about Kinsler, about Max, about David. 

There's a pall over the clubhouse. 

"I tried researching and I didn't find anything about no 'reassignment'," Jacoby says, sitting with James in the clubhouse cafeteria, bending his head in close since the Judicators are in the room, looking for signs. José sits close to James, their knees touching under the table. 

Nick shovels food in his mouth like he's trying to eat away his anxiety. 

"I worry it's gonna be some weird shit like what happened with Myles Jack," Nick says around a mouthful of bagel. James shakes his head. "Jags player that got fucked up during the conference champions last year. When they said he was doing something--" 

Nick falls quiet as the Judicators pass and James tries to think of the last time he felt comfortable in the clubhouse. 

James knocks his knee into José's, trying to give him some silent courage. 

"Illegal." He finishes, once the Judicator has passed. 

"Yeah," Jacoby adds in a whisper, "Me and Mikie were watching it and they said something about him having some precognition. He could make the tackles he did because he could glimpse which way the ball was gonna go. If them pulling out the magic is what they mean…" 

Jacoby makes a face. 

"He never recover, yeah?" José asks in a small voice. James so badly wants to comfort him. 

"So I heard from a source that might have the gift that it's part of you, like your personality, or like… some shit?" Nick says, "So there's no way to separate it like they say they can. They just _yank_ and then you're gone. It's like you weren't ever the person you were." 

"Where you hear that?" José asks. Nick frowns and he shakes his head. It's clear whoever Nick is protecting, he doesn't trust them to tell. Or rather, James assumes it's who Nick is protecting. After all, he can't think of a reason he wouldn't tell if so. 

"I got my sources."

James sits back and shakes his head then focuses on his food. Jacoby gives Nick a look, brows raising. 

"I heard a rumor they're about to put similar rules in with the WNHL," Jacoby says, "like all the stuff they've got going on here." 

Nick shakes his head. 

"How long do you think before a literal witch hunt breaks out with people claiming no girl can play that well?" Nick asks. 

James quiets his comment when Alex and Blaine join them at the table. The conversation turns to baseball things, not about Max, and James can only taste copper in his mouth as he eats. 

*

The Judicators come for Matt Boyd. They enter the clubhouse like reapers and place their hands on his elbows like they'd done to James what feels like an eternity ago. 

"James!" Is all Matt says as he's being taken away. 

James bursts into action, he doesn't think about it. He springs forward and grabs the bulkier Judicator by the arm and whirls him away. Matt breaks away while James tries to fight the two of them off. 

"Do not resist, it only makes this worse." 

James doesn't know what they hit him with, he just suddenly feels dizzy and then there's nothing. 

*

**Detroit Tigers' James McCann, Matt Boyd Suspended**   
_ESPN News Services 2:30PM EST_

Detroit Tigers' LHP Matt Boyd has been suspended for 80 games due to breaking the league's supernatural enhancement rules. Judicator John Hills determined the pitcher was using illusions to obfuscate where the ball was coming out of his hand. 

Catcher James McCann is facing a 7 day suspension for assaulting a Judicator during the detainment of Boyd. 

Matt Boyd will attend a 7-day "reassignment" camp to have an assessment done on whether his abilities can be taken from him, or if he will have to retire. 

*

James doesn't appeal his suspension and shows up in the clubhouse a week later. 

*

_dino… you heard from boyd?_

**no. been radio silent since the suspension announcement.**

*

_are the kids safe?_

**the men came back but the charms must have worked. they gave us the all clear. back in kentucky but we moved back in with mom and dad. c &k are loving the dog!**

_long as they're safe._

**won't let nothing happen to them jimmy. promise.**

_i'm gonna come visit. might need to lay low._

**i saw the suspension… be careful, please.**

*

It's probably too soon, but at the beginning of August, Daniel's brought off the disabled list and slotted into a hit Tigers starting rotation. In a clubhouse that's a little worn down, Daniel's return is just the thing to bring a bit of spark of life back to it. James is thrilled to see him, honestly. 

"You moved lockers." Daniel notes this as he comes over to his own, passing by James. 

(Daniel's locker is next to Matt's, preserved like a monument.) 

"Yeah." James doesn't want to explain why he's moved in next to José. But -- he didn't know Matt's secret. If he'd known, he would have worked harder. But he can protect José, well enough, just with the presence of himself. He knows he beat the test that day. 

It's immunity, of some sort, and it seems to be keeping them from suspecting José. 

Daniel looks a long time at Matt's locker. 

"Ashley's gonna come and fix it soon," Mike says. His voice is quiet. His eyes look a little soft and James wonders if he knows someone too. It's different for the veterans, most of them are removed from the hazy days of minor league ball; but they still probably all know someone who used to use it in that time. He wonders if Mike is remembering someone who did. 

"I don't know why you guys are torn up, he's fine," Blaine says. "Just suspended, which he was cheating, so he should be." 

"I guess," Daniel says. He has his fingers on the stitching of Boyd's last name and he lets go of the fabric. 

"It's against the rules, so, not guess, is." 

"Leave it alone, Blaine," James cautions him. Blaine narrows his eyes at James. 

"You gonna swing at me too?" Blaine jeers at him. 

James straightens up and squares his shoulders. 

"I ain't gonna back down if you're looking for a fight," James hisses at him. 

"Don't," Daniel says. "It's not worth it. Gardy'll tan your hide." 

Daniel's drawl is more pronounced from the long time away from the team. James, despite himself, chuckles at the turn of phrase. It's enough to dispel the tension for the moment. Daniel's right, so James moves back closer to José and watches Blaine suspiciously. 

James can't help it. He knows it's dangerous to have Blaine in the clubhouse now. He doesn't know who besides José might be different, but he can't let Blaine find out about any of them. The thought of anyone else coming to harm terrifies him. The thought that some minor leaguer might be here soon, still used to less restrictive minor league rules, makes James's hands ache with how hard he clenches his fists. 

James doesn't want to leave José alone and he thinks about asking him to come stay with him. Just to make it easier to protect him. So he doesn't get caught alone by the Judicators, who can sniff his magic out, or however they find it. 

After the game, after the shower, James slips his arm through José's and links their elbows. 

"It's too dangerous to go alone, I'll walk you out." 

José doesn't protest and he talks about Alex Wilson's game in the seventh, because it was such a disaster there's no way he could have been using magic to make a difference. 

*

Ashley Boyd comes to get Matt's things. 

She has Meira on her hip, and she looks more worn than James remembers her looking. But people flock to her to get news on Matt. Anything at all. 

"Ashley." James pulls her into what he hopes is a comforting hug, while Nick takes Meira off her hands and bounces her in the air, going over so Kelsey and Margaret can swoon over the baby. "How's Matt?" 

Ashley is throwing things into a duffel bag, or out in the trashcan nearby, and the set of her jaw grows more grim in the wake of James's question. 

"He's alright," Ashley says delicately. "Devastated of course. But he wasn't… strongly gifted." The Judicators glare at Ashley as she cleans the locker out and James's fingers itch with protective instincts. He wants to banish them from the locker room. 

"So the reaping didn't go as hard as other people's have. He says he can't wait to be back," Ashley says. "You should come out to Seattle and visit. He misses you guys." 

James smiles, slightly eased to know that Matt's okay. That he'll be back. 

"Yeah." 

Ashley doesn't stay long, and Kelsey walks her out. 

Matt's empty locker feels like a hole in James's heart. 

*

**max used to call his blue eye his pitching eye guess he wasn't too wrong…**

_does brian not like to listen to you talk?_

James opens the picture that Verlander sends and his blood goes cold, again. 

*

"Did you watch the video, man?" Jacoby squeezes in between José and James, holding his phone in landscape mode so they can all watch. The volume is turned up, and Reyes comes over too, the four of them crowding around Jacoby's phone to watch the short video clip that Jacoby has. 

"Holy shit," James says as Max drones on. It's nothing like how he remembers him. Or the way he spoke on television when he won his Cy Young the year before. There's some kind of bad energy there, something missing that's innately Max. 

No one misses the fact that his distinguishing feature has disappeared. 

"Horrifying," José says and James hates Jacoby is between them. The Judicators hang in the corner of the clubhouse like apparitions. Jacoby closes the video and then gestures for James to come with him. James looks at the Judicators, looking like vultures circling. 

He moves closer to José as Jacoby stands up. 

"Can it wait?" 

Jacoby nods slowly. 

"Yeah, s'pose." 

James nods and casually loops an arm around José, who's speaking to Reyes n Spanish, gesturing to the phone that Jacoby is still holding, obviously still talking about Max. José leans into him. 

*

**sjndub878**

_?_

**lol… k says hi**

_you should come to town for a bit, would love to see the boys_

**do you think it's a good idea?**

_we got a home stand coming up… you should come. i'll get you tix._

**sounds good then!**

*

James visits California on an off day. 

His childhood home is much as it ever was, both of his parents are at work, so he lets himself in with the key under the ceramic goose, and he lets himself in. The house is quiet and clean, and the cat jumps out to yell at him as he closes the door behind him. 

"You know you ain't allowed outside, Misty." James says. He takes the stairs to the attic two at a time and finds the old wooden box in the back corner of the room. The dust has been disturbed and some of the contents are still spread out over the floor, the book on protection charms resting on top. 

James isn't here for that. 

James is here to fight fire with fire.

Buried beneath the accoutrements of the old office, and all the trappings and awards from the mid-40s witch hunting, medals of valor for mitigating the effect of Nazi witches, and whatever have you-- there's his great great grandfather's journal. Where all the secrets had been passed down from his father to him. All the way back to the McCanns in pre-American history, who'd brought over their witch seeking ways. 

James's fingers trace along the worn spine, and he flips through the pages, yellowed with age-- the flowing black ink stark and dramatic, like it'd all been the most important knowledge of the time. James can't go by the book, specifically, but he needs it to make his plan out. 

James doesn't know if anyone else on the team has a history like James does, but he knows this stuff can be taught. 

He wonders if Jacoby and NIck would-- who'd be willing to put themselves on the line for it. He gathers up a few more things and packs them into his duffel bag, then he calls his mom to tell her he's in town and makes reservations for dinner. 

He doesn't come home as often as he should. 

*

**Milwaukee Brewers' Mike Moustakas Suspended**   
_ESPN News Services 5:18 AM EST_

Third baseman Mike Moustakas has been suspended 80 games for violating the league's supernatural enhancement rules. 

An anonymous source called in his status as a witch and it was validated by newly appointed Milwaukee Judicator Stephen Stamos. 

Moustakas' wife declined to comment. 

Moustakas will attend a 7-day "reassignment" camp to assess whether he can be reinstated or if he'll have to retire early. 

_Related Stories_   
**_Judicator pushes initiatives, incentives for reporting suspicious teammates_**

*

James finds Jacoby early on, he's on the phone. It's tucked between his ear and his shoulder as he looks at something on a tablet. James doesn't know how game Jacoby will be, but he remembers the white knuckled grip on his bat when the Judicators threatened to come in. 

The look of horror on his face when Matt had gotten taken. When they'd spoken about the football player. 

James comes over and sees it's some sort of press conference playing on Jacoby's phone. The ticket at the bottom says it's Craig Counsell, the manager for the Milwaukee Brewers. James gives Jacoby a confused look, but sits down next to him. He notices that Jacoby's not talking and he doesn't hear the tell-tale patter of conversation on the other end either. 

James looks at the tablet with him. 

_"... circumstances. Obviously, this will need to be investigated further."_

A reporter on the screen asks a question, too low to be heard. 

_"We're doing everything we can to give this the due diligence it deserves. Unfortunately, we're only just now receiving reports. Until we get the full story, we're not able to comment further."_

Another low question. 

_"At this time, we don't know who made the claim, but they did it with good intentions. We're sure of it. If it appears to be anything besides that, action will be taken. This is a serious matter and it'll be treated as such. Now I've got a game to plan for."_

James frowns, then grabs his phone to see what's happening, what it's all about. 

There's not enough information yet, just burgeoning reports that a mistake had been made. James frowns a little and notices José, alone, curled up in his chair with his hands over his face. 

James stands up quickly and pushes his way over to José. 

"Are you alright?" James says. 

"Is not fair," José mumbles. "I think… I don't know what to think." 

James thinks of Hernàn in Milwaukee, wonders what is going on over there. 

"It's okay," James says softly. 

He'll have to talk with Jacoby later. 

"Is no different than a false PED report. He get cleared. No need to cry," Victor Martinez says, a little coldly. "Is fact if you not doing wrong, don't have anything to fear." 

James frowns. 

"So you'd be fine if someone put your name out there?" James asks. His teeth feel on edge and his desire to cradle José and fight everything off for him pounds behind his ribcage like an animal struggling to escape. 

"I not doing wrong. I go willingly. If you break the rules… is cheating. No different." 

James feels his teeth grind together, his hands clenching into fists as he struggles to keep his calm. He can feel it close to breaking, snapping like an overtuned guitar string. 

"Well," James says and he thinks of, discards, all the words he can think to say. 

"You think there no effect? If is wrong?" José asks James. 

"There shouldn't be." James tries to soothe José's mind. But he doesn't _know_. Not yet. 

"I'm surprised you think that way," James says, trying to dispel some of the awkwardness. 

"He's the only one of you three that makes any damn sense," Alex WIlson butts in. James grimaces a little. "If you're so curious, go ask them." 

He jerks his chin towards the Judicators. 

"They're just people, and they're nice to boot. Just doing their jobs like a lot of servicemen do." 

James bites the inside of his mouth. It feels like a dangerous, slippery slope. To forgive the terror being inflicted with something like they were just doing their job. James wonders if it's worth it, to get in Alex's face about it. Victor shakes his head a little. 

James decides to just bite his tongue. 

But he notices José watching them and he wonders how it must feel, for him to know there's teammates of his, actively thinking his own natural abilities were to be feared, were _cheating_. 

James moves over to José and slips a hand over the curve of his shoulder, squeezing lightly. 

*

MLB TV plays in the screens in the clubhouse, a rain delay pushing them all inside as they wait for the storm to pass. James wants to pace the floor, feeling like a caged animal, trying to find a way to push aside the bars. He's staying close to José, who's playing some kind of dirty ad-lib game with Jeimer and Reyes. He only knows because he knows exactly what _pinga_ means. And how often they're saying it, and laughing at whatever they're talking about. 

James is waiting for more news. About the Counsell press conference, but instead it's some interview. 

Bryce Harper is one of those baseball faces. Everyone knows him. 

The ticker at the bottom says exactly what must be going on, even though he can't hear the interview well. 

_Bryce Harper on Scherzer suspension: "The rules in place protect the sanctity of the game. We wouldn't even be talking about this suspension if it was for doing illegal substances."_

There's some kind of noise from outside and James leaves the clubhouse, once he sees Jacoby has moved over by José. He doesn't know if he'll be protected yet with just Jacoby but he knows that Jacoby won't let the Judicators near him, so he feels safe for the time being. 

James steps out into the hall and sees the Judicators there and sees Miguel Sano and Joe Mauer out there. The whole situation looks tense and James knows he should probably get back into the visitor's clubhouse. 

"Everything okay?" James asks. 

He and Sano don't have a good history, he looks at the tight clench of his jaw and how even the ever-effervescent Mauer looks like he is about to take someone's head off. James wishes he'd brought his bat out with him or something. 

"You are violating the league rules," the Judicator says with a frown. Sano shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest. 

"You gonna suspend me too?" Sano asks. 

"I could." 

"I don't think you guys are allowed to dispense just routine disciplinary suspensions." Joe has his hands on his hips and James steps closer. He's ready to fight, if need be. 

"This will not go without punishment. You are obstructing me from my duties." 

Sano shrugs again. 

"That sucks." 

James sees the Judicators eyes glow a more intense blue, sparking as he draws on whatever gives them their abilities to negate witches. He sees it, the faint shimmery white drawing from Mauer, watches as his face twists in pain.

He doesn't move as fast as Miguel. 

*

**Minnesota Twins Place 1B Joe Mauer on the 10-day DL**   
_ESPN News Services 5:18 PM EST_

*

"What happened to Mauer?" 

"Yeah I don't remember him getting injured during the game." 

"Do you think it has something to do with the fact that Polanco got grabbed by those Judicators last night?" 

James feels like his head is stuffed full of cotton and he listens to Jeimer and Drew talk about it, sitting beside José and doing his best to not draw too much attention to them. He's paging through the documents he's got on his phone, trying to find an answer. 

And his fingers itch to trace over the skin where James knew that tattoo used to be. (It has to be there still, James can hear it reverberating in his mind like a kettle drum.) 

James tries to shake it all off and he doesn't know if he'll be able to. José always moves a little closer to James, and he wishes he could do more. He wishes he could take his pain away and make all of this _end_. But it doesn't seem like that's in the cards. 

Jacoby comes over and sits with them, he seems quieter than usual. James knows everyone is feeling the pressure of this. Of the suspensions, of the presence of the judicators, of everything that's been happening. 

James doesn't blame anyone for feeling that way; which is why he has to work harder on getting some way to combat it. 

On getting some way to make it harder for them to find out who is gifted. 

After the game, James sees the Judicators now posted up in their hotel and he slips into José's room after him. 

"What you doin'?" José asks, already halfway out of his clothes. The marks of the game are on him, an ugly purpling bruise in his side from an HBP, and the general scrapes and bumps from fielding. He's got his shirt off and his pants halfway off, like he doesn't care that James is in there. 

"They're in the hotel." 

He sees the fear flare in José's dark eyes and he wishes he could take that away. Instead, he just closes the space between them and slides his arms around José, holding him close, so that he feels protected, even if it's just for a moment. 

"It's okay, I won't let them hurt you. I promise, José," James says. He feels the determination steel him and he feels José relaxing in his grip. James puts his hands down low, palms flat on the smooth skin of his back, fingertips pressing against the dimples on either side of his spine. 

He feels the magic pulsing where the tattoo's been hidden. He feels the magic thrum in his chest and it makes him want to crawl out of his skin and into José's. 

"Thank you," José says softly. James squeezes his hands lightly where they're resting. 

"Don't mention it." 

José's face fits perfectly against the hollow of James's throat and he stays there, wondering about the tattoo, until José finally steps back and finishes changing into his pajamas. 

James sits in the chair while José sleeps like he's keeping a vigil. 

*

**Stephanie Moustakas** , who previously declined to comment on her husband's suspension, is now speaking out against the MLB's association with the Judicators. Mike Moustakas, who will be thirty next month, was suspended for violating the league's supernatural enhancement rules, and was sent to the reassignment camp located in Washington. 

An **anonymous source** reported to the Judicators that Moustakas was a witch and using magic to elevate his game. Moustakas's slash line is around league average .249/.307/.456, and with a WAR of -0.1. It's hard to imagine that Moustakas was using magic to pad his numbers. 

Stephanie spoke about her husband being committed, watch the video below. 

*

José takes the field wearing armbands stenciled with "18". 

*

When James gets to the clubhouse, he arrives later than normal, and right in the middle of _something_. 

He doesn't know what, but he can feel the tension as soon as he steps in and Jacoby has a hand on José's chest, keeping him back and away from-- it looks like Victor. 

They're speaking Spanish, so James doesn't understand, but Jacoby's the only thing between them and it's not stopping either one of them from getting into each other's face. 

Jacoby pushes José back some, still trying to manage it, but José is scrappy and stronger, tougher than he looks. James gets in the middle too, and though Victor is solid, James thinks he has the advantage here. He draws himself up and plants his feet. 

"What the fuck are y'all doing?" James asks. He tries to inject exasperation, even though he's fighting back every instinct to swing on Victor. He's protective of José, probably too much. Probably more than is strictly _needed_ or could be explained away by mere friendship. 

"It's not worth it," Alex Wilson says, grabbing Victor by the elbow. It seems to-- it doesn't defuse anything. But Victor lets Alex guide him away and James narrows his eyes at Victor before turning to Jacoby and José. José's dark eyes are shining with wetness and Jacoby shakes his head. James takes José by the hands and leads him away. 

Once they're safely in the bathroom, James hands José a napkin. 

"You wanna explain what that was all about?" James asks. 

José plays with the cloth of his wristbands, where the material looks like it's fraying. 

"Victor say I shouldn't be wearing these. That Mike a cheater and this was a bad idea. I tell him, he my friend." José's fixated on the cloth, dragging his fingers over the stitching. "Stephy says that Mike not a witch. I think she right. I can-- you can sometimes _feel_ it. Close in." 

José frowns more and then he glances up at James. 

"Every time we play the Royals, when I get on base, I give him a hug." 

James remembers; he isn't _jealous_. 

"I remember that," James says. 

"I get close to him. I never feel that. The magic. I say I don't think he was one. But Vic, he thinks, he thinks that is okay. Mike, he ruined because someone just made something up. And Vic thinks, it protects the sanctity of the game." José rubs at his eyes, like he's trying not to cry. 

"I think-- it not need to be so extreme. I just… I got mad. But he no back down. I don't…" José trails off and James clenches his teeth until the angry feeling passes. 

"It'll be okay." James feels like he keeps saying it. 

José gives him a sad look, pushing away from the counter, and wiping his eyes. 

"Is already not okay, James," José says quietly. "And I think-- I think maybe I just retire, instead of dealing with getting caught." 

"Just give me a few more days. I'll protect you. Do you trust me?" 

José picks at the stitching again and sniffles, but he nods. James is just going to have to move up his time table. He wraps José up in his arms. 

"You'll be okay." 

James knows he shouldn't promise that. 

*

_how are the boys?_

**they're good. nothing else happening. getting worried because k is starting to do stuff.**

_magic?_

**yeah**

_try and keep it covered but if anyone asks, it's not illegal still, as long as they're not using it to do stuff. just having magic isn't bad._

**i know. just... i worry.**

_don't blame you but it'll be okay._

James needs to stop telling people it'll be okay. 

*

James figures it out during a West Coast trip. They're in Oakland and the game doesn't end until what feels like two in the morning to his East Coast brain, but he's so excited that he can't resist implementing it. He gathers up his research and the carefully figured out spell and goes to find Nick and Jacoby. 

"I think I know how we can start to protect the clubhouse." James says. He sets his tablet down. They both look tired, worn down, and James understands but this is for the greater good. He knows that they're both worried too, both protecting whoever they know who is a witch. 

James doesn't think it's José, but he doesn't know. Jacoby and Nick are as tight lipped as he is, there's been no discussion of who they know. James reaches into his pocket and pulls out the rest of his supplies. 

The crystal that he needed, a cloudy pale blue stone that gleams in the yellow light of the hotel. The next piece is a gleaming silver blade, and then a candle where he'd carved the runes he needed into them with a paperclip. The designs are neat and cramped, swirling around it, and he sets them all before the other two. 

"This is going to hurt," James warns them. He starts his chant, saying words that hadn't been uttered by his people in a long time. But he can feel the magic in them. He knows that there's some hypocrisy, that the Judicators had to have some kind of magic too, but that's irrelevant. 

He lights the candle and the flame turns a shade of blue and he sets it on top of the gleaming square of kyanite. He draws the silver blade across the flame and doesn't pause in saying the words he needs to say. James knows they'll all be changed-- but it has to be done. 

"Hold your hands out." They both do and James can feel it awakening. He feels the magic spark on the tip of his tongue as he speaks. He can feel it pulsing in the flame, can feel it tingle through the metal of the blade. He grasps Nick's hand first and slides the blade across the pad of his thumb, then does the same to Jacoby, and then himself. 

He draws their hands together, the cuts mingling blood, and the blue flame turns to a deep blood red, and seems to swallow out the other light in the rest of the room, casting the shadows on the wall eerily like a blood moon. The lights extinguish, the lamps and the flame, and they're left in darkness. For a moment. 

Then James sees the glow in their eyes-- the hazy blue to indicate that they have the power and there's a feeling of pressure that lets up from his shoulders-- _it worked_. 

The lights come back on and their eyes return to their normal color and James realizes that he actually succeeded at this. They have the powers they need to start protecting their family, their friends, their team. James bandages both of their thumbs. 

"That fucking hurt," Nick complains. "And I feel weird." 

"You'll get used to it," James promises. "You're gonna feel it now. Who is and who isn't. We gotta look out for our own though." 

Jacoby nods and Nick looks thoughtful. 

"It's not going to be pleasant," Jacoby says. "The clubhouse is starting to get divided." Nick hums in agreement. 

"Whatever necessary though, right?" Nick says. 

James doesn't want to fight Victor, or Blaine, or Alex-- or anyone for that matter. 

He nods. 

"Ain't nobody gonna fuck with our family," James agrees. 

It feels like taking a solemn vow. 

*

They come for José. 

James doesn't know why they do, but he knows he has to protect him. At all costs. 

They're leaving a restaurant after a loss, but mostly just trying to get over the fact that the whole season is fucked. They slip out the back way to avoid the crowds of people there, and the Judicators are waiting in the alley. They're not in front of cameras, or in front of teammates. 

He thinks about how he couldn't rescue Matt. Thinks about how he's stuck in some mental hospital, probably, like Moustakas. No longer himself. And it kicks his instincts into a higher gear. He lunges at the Judicator grabbing onto José and knocks him in the teeth as hard as he can. 

It's enough to back him off and James's vision goes red as he whirls on the second one. He gets a lucky hit it and James feels his nose crunch-- not broken, but he tastes the blood on his mouth and feels it running down his lips and his chin, and that just makes him angrier. 

His knuckles split on the guy's teeth and he kicks him when he's down on the ground, as solidly as he can in the vicinity of his ribs, hoping that he won't be able to get up again. James grabs José by the wrist and shoves him behind him. 

The second Judicator is writhing on the floor still, gasping for breath, and the first one is bloodied up like James is. He sees the glint of a knife and he goes back on the attack. James feels the blade slash his side, the fabric cut and a wound opening. 

But James fights the first guy off too. Enough to where he can get them away safely. James wrestles the knife from him and stabs the Judicator in the thigh, sending him crumpling to the ground with a shriek of pain. He grabs José again and tries to take off-- they can't stay there. 

"Wait," José says and James feels fidgety and uncomfortable, like a cornered animal, or caged-- pacing in the small space and snarling at anything that comes close. The alley feels like it's closing in on them, but José leans down, shirt riding up and James thinks about the tattoo that's no longer there. 

His fingertips glow with a faint blue and he starts drawing a line of symbols that go on like paint strokes, the glow transferring. James watches with fascination, with fear, wondering what José is doing. He doesn't want to ask but he wants to know. 

"Are you-- hurting them?" James asks. It feels like a dumb question as he's bleeding out and they're both unconscious. 

"Just making them forget." 

José is done in a matter of moments, the sigils fading. "I'm protecting us." 

James is frightened. He doesn't know what José is capable of, he trusts him but his heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest. It's going to burst through his ribs like the scene from _Alien_. Except this isn't a movie, it's real life. 

James grabs José again and hurries him away from the bodies in the alley. 

And it's lucky, lucky because no one saw them, lucky that James doesn't stay too far away from where they were eating at, and that he can go through and lock all the doors and windows, keep the lights off, and no one will know that they're there. 

James stands in the foyer, breathing heavily still, his side and nose still aching. 

"Are you okay?" James asks José, cupping his face in his hands. José's eyes are darting back and forth, like he's scared, or he's studying something and he grabs onto James's wrists. For a moment, James is sure that time is standing still and he doesn't know what's happening. 

Then José surges forward and kisses him. He's sure that there's still blood on his mouth, it's on his own hands, it's staining his shirt and for a moment all he cares about is José's mouth on his. James groans into the kiss, adrenaline kicked into overdrive and José shoves him back against the wall. 

His hand settles over the wound on James's side and he feels some warmth go through him, but he barely notices it. All of his rational thought is taken from him, because he needs. He suddenly _needs_ so bad it hurts. José presses in closer, digs his nails into James's sides and bites on his lower lip. 

James still aches, but it doesn't stop him from picking José up and carrying him towards the bedroom. 

José laughs, it's breathless and surprised and James doesn't know _why_ he's laughing. The need is too strong. Everything feels too intense, too much. He knows one-- or both-- of them could have died tonight and all he wants is to reaffirm that they're both alive. 

"Show me your tattoo." James says and he strips José's shirt off, and grabs at his belt. The illusion slides off and the inky black, glowing faintly red, shows up again, looking like fresh woodburning on his tawny skin. James keeps José on his hands and knees as his fingers trace over the symbols. 

"Please." José says softly, desperately. James gets José's pants down around his knees, and keeps one hand pressed over the tattoo, feeling the magic pulsing there, and he slips his fingers inside of José pressing into him and listening to the soft way he gasps. 

Watches as he puts his head down and sticks his ass more into the air. 

James likes it. James keeps fingering José, slow and careful and he bends down to press his mouth to the runes. They're hot to the touch, like putting his fingers on the stovetop when the oven is on. James draws back and shoves his own pants down. 

He keeps his hands over the tattoo as he slides in, as he thrusts into José desperately, who wails underneath him and clutches at the sheets desperately, rocking himself back against James. It feels like he's a ship being tossed on a choppy sea. 

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," James mumbles as he presses his mouth to José's bared shoulder. He can't stop saying it. He reaches down and wraps his fingers around José's cock, stroking in a rhythm to his thrusts. It's -- it's too much. James knows it is. 

José babbles at him in quick, broken Spanish, like the words are cutting out, and he throws his head back when he comes, all over James's fingers and the sheets beneath them. James can't help it either, once José clenches around him, crying out, James comes too. 

James feels like something changes in him. He cleans them up enough and wraps his arms around José and falls asleep with his mouth pressed to the back of his neck. 

*

James thinks that gets them some time. Buys them some breathing room from them coming after José. 

He doesn't know how they _know_. But he'll have to be more careful. 

*

"You seem different." 

The Judicator's voice sends a thread of ice down James's veins. He wonders what he knows, what he can tell-- but then he realizes that he's not the one being addressed. The Judicator is looking right at Nick, who merely raises an eyebrow and keeps on eating his lunch. 

"Got a new tattoo." Nick's voice is bland and he holds up his arm to show. The ink is dark, thick lines of black, shadowed by a vaguely airbrushed looking blue... **XXX**

The Judicator's eyes narrow and his lip curls up, studying the ink. 

"It is not your tattoo." 

"Dunno what to tell you man, that's the only shit that's changed." 

The Judicator doesn't look convinced and James sits there on edge, wondering how Nick can keep his cool like he does. He wonders about the new tattoo though. The Judicator walks off, leaving the two of them be, but goes over to sit with Alex and V-Mart. James tries not to frown. 

"So, new tattoo, huh?" James asks. Nick shrugs again. 

But he wonders, really, what it will be like. If people that they truly loved suddenly had to be re-assigned. James likes Matt well enough, misses him even. And he was the same with Scherzer too. But it isn't like how he'd be if José had been taken. 

There's a stab of guilt when he thinks of how hard he fought for José. 

How hard he didn't fight for Matt. 

James pushes the thought aside as José joins them and Nick looks at James critically. 

"Did you get into a fight?" He asks. James is, truth be told, still sore from it. From the slug to his nose, to the lingering phantom pain of the blade across his side. José had fixed that-- he thinks? He remembers warmth and then the fire-hot feeling soothing. 

"Just a small one," James says and shakes his head. He wants to tell Nick about how he'd had to protect José, but he feels like they're always being watched. 

Nick sighs. 

"Be careful, man," Nick says. He surreptitiously looks over at Alex, who's been joined by Blaine and another Judicator, laughing and chatting. James winces. 

"Yeah, you no want someone to tell them you a witch." José looks down at the table and studies his hands like they're the most interesting thing in the world. "Who you go to for your ink, maybe I get something." 

Nick scrawls down some information and José takes it. 

James wonders if he should get something too.

* 

James tries to put a lot of it out of his mind. But it doesn't work. It _never_ works. He turns on the television and it's almost always in the peripherals, on the ticker at the bottom, it feels like an endless list of accusations and findings. News and updates. Of people that he knew or had rubbed shoulders with, or chirped at when he's crouched behind home plate. 

It feels like a constant agony. But he's not even at the forefront, it's all on the outsides for him. He thinks about José. About whoever Jacoby is protecting and Nick and flips through the channels until he settles on some late night interview. It says with special guest Justin Verlander, and he pauses. Wondering. 

James keeps the channel on that and watches. It starts off normal enough, they ask about his time in Houston, winning the World Series, his feelings on some of the other great pitchers and his time in Detroit. His relationship with Kate. Stuff that James has heard and seen before, so his mind blanks out a little, finally, maybe, disconnected from the horrible happenings around baseball. 

But it's never like that. 

_"You and Max were friends, but you've been outspoken in your support for the league rules. Has that changed since an ex-teammate has been impacted by it?"_ The host-- James doesn't know who he is, someone with dark spiky hair and a gaunt face-- is leaning forward, with gleaming eyes. It's like a shark sighting in prey. 

_"Max is a great guy, I loved playing with him. But…"_ Verlander trails off, the silence in the audience is almost palpable. And Justin looks, momentarily, like he's hesitating. But then he forges on, _"the fact of the matter is, we have talented players that aren't cheating. Is it fair he gets to keep a major league roster spot because he has an unfair advantage?"_

Justin pauses as there's a scattering of applause, someone whooping in their agreement. Justin smiles and then looks at the host again. 

_"If Max is talented, really good at what he does, he'll get back to it. And we'll know he's been good all along. But if he isn't? That's just the way it has to be."_

_"So, you're still in favor of it?"_ Incredulity in the host's voice. And James finds himself feeling the same way. He thinks about the photo he saw of Max, his eyes being the same color, his voice droning on like there was nothing else in there… 

_"Absolutely. Not that he doesn't deserve a second chance. We give people who do PEDs a second chance, like Braun. But just like we test to get illegal substances out of the league, we need to get the magic out of there too."_

James shuts the television off and the feeling of disgust doesn't leave him. 

*

_are you fucking serious?_

**what?**

_you really fucking think that magic is the same as taking peds?_

**you don't? It's cheating**

_it's just another level of talent, they're born with it, it's part of them._

**and they don't have to use it for sports, so…**

It hurts. 

James blocks Justin's number. 

*

James prefers to play away these days, mostly because the Judicators are assigned to the clubhouse and they're much more interested in managing (read: harassing) the home team. James is of the opinion that they should fight it when they see it though, regardless of what team it is. 

He's lucky that Nick, Jacoby, and José feel the same way. 

Thankfully, they don't normally have to, but James starts studying, starts watching more closely. He doesn't think that just the four of them can stomp out this problem on their own, especially when so many respected players seem to be in favor of the new rules. 

James knows he shouldn't be surprised, but he is. Seeing people he once respected, even liked, in favor of the reassignment camps and the hard line of suspensions against players is depressing. Without José, he's sure it'd feel so lonely. He should have suspected it'd be like this. He supposes he just wanted to believe that people would be better. 

"We need more people." James tells Nick. They're gathered in José's room after a much needed win. José and Jacoby are playing some video game, but James can see they're still paying attention. He doesn't begrudge them needing to wind down. James feels like he could use that too. 

Later, though. 

"Thing is, we gotta be careful. Don't wanna end up like Moustakas," Nick says. James notices the way José's grip tightens on the controller, his knuckles going white. Nick has a point though, James can't deny that at all. 

"We need to start by asking people we know who are… gifted," James says. "Get them in the movement. Get them to tell us who they trust." 

Nick blows out a sigh, plosive. 

" _And_ do it in a way where they stay safe too," Nick adds. James nods. 

"Especially those on other teams. I don't think we can start the revolution just from the clubhouse. Just the four of us." 

" _Viva la resistance_ ," Jacoby says from his spot on the couch. "The guy I know is still knocking around in the minors right now." 

"Tigers farm?" Nick raises his brows as Jacoby nods. He rubs at the bridge of his nose and shakes his head like he's clearing it. "The guy I know isn't much of a wavemaker. I can see what he's willing to do, but I gotta tell you, he likes to keep it smooth sailing."

"Even though he being oppressed?"José asks, legitimately confused. Nick laughs, his smile widening. 

"Well, no one said he was smart." 

"I know someone too," James says. 

"Not on the Tigers?" José sounds surprised, but James nods. 

"I'll ask him too. He'll probably be willing to help." 

Hernàn always did like to raise hell. 

*

_James doesn't think they should be sneaking out of the dorms, but here they are, with their backs to the wall in a shadowed corridor, trying to sneak past the office that the skipper had fallen asleep in. The key, he knows, is to remain as quiet as possible._

_They shouldn't even be going out; James knows this too. They have a game tomorrow and James is sure some of the front office guys are going to be there, as the hot summer is fading, racing towards September, and the call-ups are going to be any day now._

_James wants so desperately to be in the majors. It's so close he can taste it. He knows he's been good enough this year. He's been reading statistics, reading up on the other catchers in the farm system and on the team, and he's willing to bet money that it's going to be him._

_So it's stupid to let Hernàn jeopardize everything when his goal is so close he can almost taste it._

_But James always had a hard time saying no to Hernàn._

_They get past the office, which is darkened now and empty, and maybe everything is going to be just fine._

_Hernàn uses his magic to open the locks and start up someone else's car, and slides in with a shit-eating grin, hair sticking up all over the place. James is hesitant but he gets in anyways._

_"This is a bad idea," James feels the need to caution. But Hernàn isn't paying attention to any of that, as soon as James's seat belt clicks in, he's off to the races. The car is nicer than anything a minor leaguer would drive and James is nearly positive this is some major leaguer's car-- someone who is rehabbing with them after getting off of the DL._

_"This is an_ incredibly _bad idea," James adds. Hernàn rolls down the window and blasts the radio. He opens the moon roof too and grins at James as he does._

_"Come on, live a little." Hernàn flashes a smile and his magic flares blue like a match being struck in the dark and James isn't sure if it's the magic or the roguish smile that draws him in._

_They wind up at some 24-hour diner, getting coffee and dessert, and talking about buying some liquor at the corner store as soon as they're done. The waitress looks like she knows who they are, but just gives them a conspiratorial wink, like she's not going to give up their secret._

_James wishes he could thank her more._

_They wind up with a good haul of cheap booze and drive back to sneak it in, partying as quiet as they can with the other people in their dorm. Carrying on in a way that a secret party necessitates._

_No one knows who did it, or why, but it rains the whole night through._

_And the major leaguer (_ "Well it had to be you, who else would be in your car?" _) rails about the fact that his interior is ruined… the moon roof still open from the night before._

*

_got a weird favor to ask_

**again? u only call when u want something**

_it's not like that_

**what is it like then?**

_can we meet up? can't be a record_

**what are u up to j? nothing bad i hope**

_i think you'll be on bored. just need face to face._

**u got it. meet u on the next off day 4 me?**

_sounds good._

**u always were a troublemaker**

*

James isn't really prepared to see Hernàn face-to-face again. 

The problem is that Hernàn is still as attractive as ever. His dark hair is dyed blonde, shaved on the sides, and curling almost exactly the way it used to when they were in the minors together. His brown eyes are sparkling with maybe amusement, or maybe just glittering with the magic that has been with him since he'd known Hernàn. 

Regardless, it's like a blast from the past and then his future intersecting all at the same time. 

He shouldn't have done this in person, but it was too dangerous to do over text message. Something like this, he's sure some of their communications are being tracked. Or maybe not, because the twins and Jess are still alright, but it's better safe than sorry. 

Or maybe some small part of him still wanted-- _needed_ to see Hernàn. It feels foolish now, when he's thinking about it; but it's not all that idiotic. He thinks about José, back in Detroit, under the watchful eyes of Jacoby and Nick. 

There's a ping of something like guilt, when he wraps Hernàn up in a tight hug and thinks about everything they'd been. And how easy it would be, to fall back into Hernàn's easy charm and lopsided smile, and dark eyes that still seem to hold the secrets of all the universe. 

"Mac!" Hernàn sounds genuinely pleased to see him and presses a chaste kiss on each cheek before drawing back. They don't stay in the airport long, easy enough to hide their identities with baseball caps slung down low and a casual kind of air. 

Hernàn was always good at illusions though, there's a distinct possibility that they only pass unnoticed because Hernàn is making it happen. He tries not to think about it too much. 

He tries not to think about how dangerous it might be for him to be so flagrant. To James, danger lurks around every corner. Even this is a risk, although it's one that has to be taken. They slip from the airport and even though he's a big leaguer now, Hernàn still drives the same car, and he's suddenly twenty-two again, feeling like he's free, even though he's not. 

He's a stupid kid who doesn't know himself, who gets caught up in everything that Hernàn is, and winds up destroying his marriage. It's fine now-- but the memory makes it so he can almost smell the sage incense they'd burned, almost feel the press of Hernàn's strong hands against his hips. 

( _"You're older, you should know better."_

_"Ain't by that much and you're glad I don't."_

_Hernàn silences his laughter with a kiss._ )

Hernàn doesn't take him to his house in Milwaukee, just a dingy motel on a backroad, with a few broken soda lights illuminating the parking lot. It looks like the beginning of a murder mystery and James feels like he's going to jump at the shadows, jump out of his skin. 

The motel room smells like stale cigarette smoke badly covered by some febreeze and he sits on the bed and tries not to think about it. 

"Some hospitality." 

"My wife is home." Hernàn's voice is even and James has kept up enough to know Hernàn is married. Just like he's sure Hernàn knows that James is now divorced. He sits next to him on the bed and James thinks how best to bring this up. He's not sure how Hernàn will take it. Or how any of this will go. 

Recruiting, that's the difficult part. 

"We're trying to fight back against the Judicators. There ain't no reason for these extremes, and I'm done letting them be judge and jury," James says. "But us Tigers can't do it on our own. We gotta few on our side, but it's dangerous; there's people against us too." 

Hernàn makes an acknowledging noise. 

"So, I know you're on a different team than me and I was wondering if you knew anyone. We can make it work. I can fly in and do the rituals, to give 'em what they need. They'll help shield magic users from detection. And it'll make the Judicators' job harder it's just… we gotta start somewhere." 

James stares at the patch of his jeans that are wearing through and drags his finger across the strings of denim. 

"I'll see what I find out," Hernàn says. He pauses. "You a good man, James. We lucky to have you." He makes a gesture like a circle. James knows he means witches. Or, he thinks he knows what he means. James doesn't know if lucky is a good word. 

"Alright, well, you know how to reach me." 

Hernàn nods and then shakes his head. 

"I no understand, why you risk yourself, especially for others you don't know." 

"Sometimes you just gotta go with what you think is right." 

Hernàn doesn't look convinced. 

"Yeah," Hernàn says. They're quiet for a while and James continues to fidget. He wishes it still felt comfortable, like all those hazy summer days in Pennsylvania. But he supposes good and bad things both fade. James stares at the wall and Hernàn presses a hand against his chest. 

"I can hear you thinking." 

James shoots him a suspicious look. 

"Not like that, just-- you too loud." He knocks James in the skull and James frowns. But Hernàn scoots closer and lays his head on his shoulder and it feels a bit more like old times. 

"Should ask you to do a reading for me again," James says abruptly. Hernàn gives him a lidded look and stands without comment. He leaves and goes outside and returns a few moments later with a deck of tarot cards and he grins at James. 

"One card, just for your right now," Hernàn says. He sits cross legged on the bed across from James and puts the deck down between them. 

It's the Tower, upright. 

Hernàn's face goes sickly pale; he won't tell James what it means. 

*

James tries to put the strange encounter with Hernàn behind him. He's exhausted the following day, after taking a red-eye back to Detroit, and he hopes he looks sick enough that Gardy scratches him from the line-up and lets Hicks do it. 

He's not so lucky. 

"You no look so good," José says, they're sitting next to one another in the dugout. James shrugs. 

"I'm fine." James gives him a reassuring smile. José doesn't look convinced. 

There's an odd pall around the stadium today, but James thinks he's imagining it. He's sure he is, because almost everyone else looks fine, and he watches as Nick hits a beautiful home run over the wall and rounds the bases. 

There's a commotion from the stands, and he watches as the crowd goes silent, and then strange murmurs and whispers. He stands to try and see what's going on, but he can guess from the crowd noise that it's not good. Or _lack_ of crowd noise. 

The robed figures pour onto the field, blocking Nick's path to home plate and Gardy storms out of the dugout, but Victor follows close by, touching Gardy's elbow and keeping him from going further. 

José looks like he's about to cower and James closes his eyes for a moment before he leaps over the fence. The umpires aren't doing anything and James contemplates grabbing a bat before he goes over there. Jeimer's frozen in the on-deck circle. 

(James can't blame him.) 

Nick, to his credit, looks unphased and he stands a few feet away, popping his gum like he's not facing down a disaster waiting to happen. 

"Nicholas Castellanos, you're wanted for questioning," the head Judicator announces. James looks around the field, at the silent crowd that's just letting this happen, that there's silence from the other players too. James wonders if anyone would speak up. 

Or maybe it was just every team for themselves. Every team versus every other team and what happened, happened, because no one was going to care as long as it wasn't them. 

"Hey!" James startles when someone shouts. It's enough, the tension is broken and James jogs over to where Nick is, hoping he's okay. Abreu comes off of first base and strides right towards the Judicators. 

"We try and play a game right now." He waves his glove at them like he's trying to shoo away birds. The Judicators don't move, but Abreu doesn't break his stride and soon he's almost in the thick of it. 

James moves a little closer to the chalk line and he sees Victor's still holding Gardy back; Narvaez moves around the figures and goes to stand by James, tipping his facemask up. 

"Hey, you deaf?" Abreu asks and he gets into the middle of it, pushing one of the men. James feels like the world has slowed down to a crawl, just seconds taking minutes to crawl by. 

There's no magic, James remembers the way the Judicator had tried to draw Mauer out, the shimmering white of his -- soul? but that's not what he does to Abreu, who stops where he is likes he's frozen. Narvaez bristles, James can almost feel the static of it. 

"You can resume your game as soon as Nicholas comes with us." Nick glances at Abreu, at James, at the silent and quieted crowd. The dugout. It's a moment James isn't sure what Nick is thinking.

James sees the flicker of fear on his face before he strides forward. Abreu's stasis breaks when he does and Nick touches homeplate with his toe. 

He raises his cap to the crowd and then drops it down at Abreu's feet.

"Nick…" James says and Nick shakes his head. 

The rest of the game feels like it takes eternity. 

*

_Nick? Are you okay? Answer me please?_

"If he doesn't answer, we should go to his house," Jacoby says, pacing the room. José is cowering on the bed, arms wrapped around his legs, and James keeps unlocking his phone, hoping that he's got a reply and it just hasn't notified. 

He checks in with Jess and the twins too -- but they're okay and James breathes slightly easier but not much better. 

"You think Abreu is gifted?" Mikie asks. James doesn't know when he got inducted into their band, but he doesn't seem bothered by witches, and he's watching through the curtains of Jacoby's blinds at the streets below. 

"I dunno. He seemed pretty upset though."

"Yeah I think it matters less why and more that people are on our side." Jacoby sits next to Mikie, their shoulders touching lightly and James watches them carefully before he reaches out to take José's hand in his own. 

Jacoby notices but he doesn't say anything. James knows he should care but his main focus is on making José feel safer. 

"We gotta start fighting back," Mikie says. James agrees. 

"Yeah." His side pings with a phantom pain. 

"Harder than we have been." 

"If ya ain't with us you're against us." James feels dismal saying it. It seems like everything is going to fall apart from this point on. There's no more tenuous control. 

The season is fading fast but this isn't going to end just because it's the off-season. James rubs at the back of his neck.

"Ain't no other way," Mikie says. James breathes in and steels himself; it's going to be harder but worth it. 

Nick doesn't respond. 

"I'm gonna go round to Nick's place and see if he made it home safe," James says. "We can't just trust he's fine." 

*

Nick's house is empty, but the door lock is busted and the house looks like it's been tossed. Everything is a mess, clothes and papers and couch cushions strewn all over the living room. 

James knows just from experience that Nick would never leave his house like this. 

He wonders what they were looking for. 

James knows that Nick's protecting someone. He just doesn't know who. The last thing he needs -- he wants -- is for anyone to get hurt. But this is all a mess. 

José clings onto him as they take in the sight. 

"Is that… blood?" José asks and James follows his sight line. It definitely is, a stain of brilliant crimson on white gauzy curtains. There's more of it than James feels strictly comfortable with. His heart starts thudding in his chest painfully. 

Nick's been his buddy for ever, since the minors, and this is. If he's hurt. If he's -- he can't even think of the alternative. 

Jacoby comes back to the main room, Mikie trailing him with his jaw pulled tight. 

"The whole place is like this. I dunno what they were looking for." 

James shakes his head and continues pacing the house, picking up the overturned things. James rubs the back of his neck. 

"Well I know Nick knows someone," James says, "but he ain't ever mention who it was." 

José picks up some of the overturned pictures. Mostly just family photos. James watches as he puts them back on the shelf. James recognizes Nick's mom and his dad, a framed photo of his high school baseball team. 

"TMZ just broke he's in the hospital," Mikie says. James doesn't like calling in favors and he's felt like he's had to do it so much these days. From Hernán and now -- 

**you still close with vanessa?**

_somewhat… we don't talk much since neither one of us is married to either one of you no more._

**can you check if she's still nick's emergency contact?**

James waits for the response, wondering if the ticking he can hear is in his head or real. 

But she works it out -- they get the address of the hospital. José lingers in front of the wreckage while Mikie and Jacoby head out to the car. 

"They gonna come for me again, James, and I think -- think I should go." 

"Over my dead body." 

James sees José's dark eyes well up with tears, wetness glimmer in his lashes. José slips his arms around James briefly. 

"That's why I gotta." José's tone is gentle, he reaches up to cup James's face in his hands. "I not want anything to happen to you. I--" 

"We'll have to talk later." James's heart feels like it's going to whine like a jet engine, it's pounding so fast. José opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. 

They head out to join Jacoby and Mikie.

*

They get easy access to Nick's room. James doesn't know if it's because they're recognizable, or if Jacoby's easy and genuine smile gets them in. It doesn't matter, because James just breathes a sigh of relief to see Nick a little bloodied up but okay. 

José spends the first few minutes quizzing Nick, making sure, just things he'd know, until they're sure that Nick is just himself, and not anything else. Anyone else. 

"What happened?" Mikie asks, perching on the edge of Nick's bed and flipping through the hospital channels until it lands on a random game-- some replay, Mikie's eyes flicker over the screen and then turn back towards Nick. 

James knows, everyone is going for something casual. Some kind of easy conversation that doesn't quite reveal how deeply bothered they all are. 

Nick makes a vague noise in response and waves his hand from side-to-side. 

"Someone told them I know someone. They wanted to know who it was." Nick's fingers idly trace the roman numeral on his forearm. James watches the track of Nick's fingers, sees the way he's all bloodied up and his blood runs cold at the thought of José turning himself in. 

Mikie looks unsettled too and James links his fingers briefly with José's. 

"But it's worth it," Nick says after a moment, shaking his head. "I'd do it all over again to protect my friend."

Nick's always been a good one, James remembers, even though it seems like years ago-- standing shoulder to shoulder with him. 

"Something's gotta change soon," Jacoby says. 

"Will you be safe here?" José asks and he holds Nick's hand tightly, his knuckles nearly going white. James thinks he understands. James would probably hold off the gates of hell for Nick or José at this point. 

"Should be fine." Nick lays back against his pillow and stares at the ceiling and José gives a furtive glance to Jacoby and Mikie. José must make some kind of decision, because he moves a little closer and lays his hands on the bandages, bows his head a little. 

James can see the relief spread through Nick, watches him relax against the bed like a huge weight's been lifted. 

James knows for the sake of hiding, Nick's going to have to stay in the hospital for a few days. But at least he'll be safe there. 

James and José split with Mikie and Jacoby when they get outside and he thinks he sees a familiar face walking into the hospital. But the energy doesn't feel bad so he forces himself to relax. 

"I'm gonna take you home," James says and José nods, not protesting. 

*

James can hardly wait for the door to shut behind them, in James's apartment, before he's pressing José back against the door. It's desperate, just like the first time, except more so because in every kiss and every stroke of skin on skin, James hopes he's making sure that José knows that James doesn't want him to go. 

It hurts, to think of José doing what he'd suggested. For the love of James, for the team. It hurts. James feels like it's tearing him apart at the seams. 

And his only respite is this.

His mouth on José's. 

It just makes sense. He slides his fingers under José's shirt and bites at his lower lip. James wishes it was more romantic, more-- something. But he feels like he's moving on borrowed time and that every second that he wastes he'll never be able to get back. 

He doesn't-- 

James cups José's face in his hands and holds his gaze, eyes tracking over his face, memorizing the warmth in his eyes and the way his mouth is shaped. He doesn't want José to ever forget him. He doesn't want José to go at all, to have some intrinsic part of himself pulled out. 

James loves José. 

He can't force the words past the lump in his throat, so he kisses José deeper, until their teeth click together, and James is working José's pants open and shoving his hand in between the cotton of his boxers and his hot skin. He wraps his fingers around him and strokes him in rough little half strokes, as much as he can move. 

José clings to him, fingers digging into his shoulders. His head falls back against the door and James mouths at his throat, feeling the fluttering of José's pulse. He wants to do more-- he _needs_ to do more. But they don't have enough time. 

"I got you, baby," James mumbles against José's skin, kissing along his shoulder. "I-- I've got you." 

James doesn't know what else to say. He feels so prickly, agitated. He needs and wants to take, wants to give, wants _everything_ but he can't say it. 

He jerks José off until he makes him come in his jeans, slumped against the doorway, with only James for support. José looks dazed, lips bright pink and swollen, cheeks with high spots of color on them. James wipes his hands on his jeans and palms himself. 

José takes his hand and leads him to bed. 

*

Nick returns to the lineup not too long after, but he's different. Changed. 

James doesn't think it's particularly that the Judicators had done something, like with Moustakas, but there's just something different. Maybe it's the set of his jaw, or the odd way he seems to keep his eyes catching on his triple-x tattoo. 

But something with Nick isn't right. James doesn't know if he needs to be nervous about it. Everyone is jumpy. The season is winding down and nothing is going right, and it feels like the pressure in the clubhouse is getting more and more intense. 

"You okay?" James asks and he bumps his shoulder into Nick's. 

He tries to gauge what he's thinking. 

"I just have a bad feeling, man," Nick says. "I didn't tell them anything but I just wonder if they-- fuck I don't know, found out somehow." 

"About what?" James reaches over to squeeze Nick's shoulder. 

"The guy I'm protecting. I know you got," Nick says and bobs his head in José's general direction, "him, so I was just wishing we were closer. Ain't heard much from out that way but I'm still just… jumpy." 

"You didn't give 'em anything?" 

Nick shakes his head a little. 

"Whatever we did, must have made me immune or some shit, because they were resorting to physical stuff, and all of a sudden I could feel them in my head like prickling of nerve-endings, but I kept them out." 

"Yeah, when they got me it was the same." 

"They got you?" 

"Yeah," James rubs his hand through his hair, "back when it all started, they were asking me all this shit, you know? Like about my family and stuff." 

Nick's throat works as he swallows and they sit there in silence for a few minutes. 

James gets it though. Nick's off feeling; because he's started to feel the same way. They haven't gotten anything in the way of answers from other teams to fight back against the Judicators, and it seems like the whole thing was a fool's errand. 

He has the knowledge, but no one wants to do anything with it. 

And the lingering concern of José giving himself over to the authorities makes his blood run cold. It shouldn't be like this. 

He shouldn't be distrustful of his teammates, worried about his friends that they might get hurt due to something far more sinister than an injury on the diamond. James clenches his fists a little. 

"I feel weird about it too, man," James admits finally. "Like there's a storm brewing on the horizon." 

Nick nods, but the conversation dies down, leaving James watching José from across the clubhouse. 

*

Ashley Boyd is in the clubhouse which strikes James as strange. But if there's nothing else, the whole year has been a reason for anything unexpected to be treated as untrustworthy. Ashley looks bad. Her eyes are rimmed with red and she looks like she hasn't showered, mascara running down her cheeks. James moves over to her, grabbing her by the elbow. 

"Are you okay?" 

Ashley doesn't seem okay and she shakes her head 'no', her shoulders shaking. James wraps his arms around her, holds her close to him, for a moment. She feels so fragile and delicate, and people are looking on, as the clubhouse gets more and more full. 

He's about to press further, but Gardy arrives, with Al closely following on his heels, and Ashley rubs her eyes with the edges of her sleeves and follows them into Al's office. The atmosphere feels funny, charged like there's an electricity in the air.

The Judicators seem to loom more darkly than ever and outside the clubhouse, James knows the weather is turning colder. 

Darker. 

Someone -- Jeimer -- lightens the mood as best he can by loading up some video games, and the clubhouse seems to take a collective breath and the noise starts up again. James moves to where José is sitting with Reyes, playing some kind of phone game together, or competing against one another. 

It almost feels normal.

James keeps glancing at the door to Gardy's office though, wondering why Ashley is here. José is sitting with Nick, playing cards, and James tries to focus on everything that's going on, where everyone is. Paranoia springing up as José's comment about turning himself in still lingers on his mind like a fog of discontentment. 

But something is itching under his skin, some discomfort, like the way the air smells like ozone before a lightning storm or the clouds swirl when a tornado is coming on. 

It's oppressive. Everything is going to come undone soon. He can feel it. Twine fraying. It feels like ages -- it's probably ten minutes -- and Ashley re-emerges with an ashen face and red rimmed eyes, clutching a handful of Kleenex. 

Gardy walks her out, hand on her elbow and Al follows but stops in the clubhouse. 

Al steps to the middle of the clubhouse and the noise and movement starts to die down, bit by bit, and the sense of dread gnawing in James's stomach grows. 

"I have an announcement," Al says, his voice solemn.

*

**Detroit Tigers Announce Sudden Passing of Pitcher Matt Boyd**  
Elias Harrison, Detroit Free Press Published 9:02 p.m. ET Sep. 07, 2018

The Detroit Tigers released a statement, following the news of Matthew Boyd's death in his hometown of Seattle, Washington. 

"We are saddened to announce the passing of Matthew Boyd," Detroit Tigers' Public Relations officer Janine Howell wrote in a statement on their blog late on Friday night. "We are asking to keep his family in your thoughts and prayers while we continue to investigate the cause of this great tragedy." 

Boyd, 27, leaves behind wife Ashley and their one-year old daughter, Meira. 

There's been little comment about what was the cause of death and the family was unreachable at this time. 

There will be a memorial service held on September 10th, prior to first pitch versus the Houston Astros. 

*

The blanket of solemnity has come down even more oppressively. James wonders if by the end of the season, just one more month after this, if there'll even be enough room on José's wrist to fit another number. Next to the 18, there's the 48, and it makes James feel sick. 

There's only so much real estate to go around, and what if it's a band of numbers, circling like an endless parade of fallen friends and teammates. 

James stays even closer to José than before. Wracked with horrible guilt and unpleasantness. He has nightmares sometimes, awakening in a cold sweat, as he thinks about the way Matt called his name out before he was taken. It's hard to deal with. It's only been a few days and he's struggling with it. 

If something happened to José he thinks he would lose it. Or maybe he doesn't think he will, but knows he will. And the people that he does know have the gift, how long is it before whatever happened to Matt happens to them too. 

What if Scherzer and Moustakas went that way too. And the people on teams that he didn't know. Like whoever Nick was protecting. Or Hernán. Or any of the many people that have to be hiding that secret from the world. 

What if it expanded beyond baseball. Who would protect his kids while he was away? Or those whose gifts were quietly locked away. They _need_ a change. They need answers. There's so much that's going on, that's going _wrong_ it's near impossible to keep his head above water. 

It's impossible to keep his sanity and his wits about him. It's a painful, depressing, unconscionable thing that's happening. James knows they need more allies. 

They need something _more_. 

To end this madness. 

A strange number pops up on his phone. 

_i have information for you. jose tell me that you looking in and i think you should know what happened to matt._

**who are you? How do you know what happened?**

_it doesn't matter but listen. i have magic too so i know that i see things. I maybe use it for the game and is not as obvious as some. I gonna send you some info. Just be on the lookout._

James doesn't know if he can trust the mystery person, but he mentioned José. He sits over where he's at, just staring down at the photo gallery the Free Press had put up in memory of Matt's time with Detroit. He looks pale, dark shadows beneath his eyes, the light gone from them. James doesn't blame him. 

Daniel looks like he hasn't slept since he heard the news. His hair is dirty and his beard unkempt, just rolling a baseball between his hands like it's a meditation device, gaze blank. He remembers, somewhere vaguely at the back of his mind, that they'd been close. 

That they'd basically grew up on their teams together. Together in farm systems and then in the majors. James relates. 

He wonders. 

Mikie and Jacoby are sitting nearby too, so he stands up and makes his way over to Daniel, and slides his hands over Daniel's to stop the motion. Daniel feels cold and James has a sudden feeling of an intense and cloying sadness but he doesn't know if it's from himself, or if it's from Daniel. 

"Hey," James says and Daniel doesn't raise his gaze from their hands. He doesn't blame him. 

"Hey." Daniel's voice cracks on the word, sounding disused and broken. 

James doesn't know what to say, but he feels like he should say something. He feels like-- he feels like there's got to be something he can do. (But at this point, it's already too late, probably.) He swallows down his feelings of inadequacy. 

James almost asks if Daniel is okay. It's obvious he isn't, so he doesn't. He's just quiet for a moment and he squeezes Daniel's hands tighter in his own. He can't fix this. 

"I'm going to find out what happened," James promises. Daniel meets his gaze and it's so dull, it _hurts_. 

"Yeah?" His voice is flat, uncaring, or maybe disbelieving. James can't blame him. He doesn't blame him. He needs to know what happened too. Matt was his friend. He was so _good_. He just had a baby. He just started really getting himself in stride. 

Tears blur his vision and he squeezes Daniel's hands again and then steps back over to where he was before. But it's not going to make it better. Nothing is going to make it better. Even knowing what happened wasn't really going to fix anything. But it might lend some legitimacy to the claim this is bad idea. 

Maybe they can affect the change. 

*

Daniel was supposed to be pitching this game, but Blaine Hardy is making the start in his place, just like years ago when José had been taken out of the lineup when Fernandez's death had been announced. It's just as solemn, even the crowd seems quieter somehow. 

They're lined up, the Astros on the other side of them, and James keeps staring at the ground. Jeimer is holding José's hand, and everyone on both teams has a 48 stitched on their wrist bands if they wear them. He wonders how Justin feels now. 

Justin, who had stuck to his guns even though he and Scherzer had been close, who hadn't said anything when news of Moustakas had gotten out, who was now here, giving a minute of silence to an ex-teammate whose abilities had likely, directly, caused his death. 

He watches-- as Salty holds Daniel to his chest while they play Amazing Grace, and his shoulders are shaking. Some people are openly crying. 

James doesn't think he has the ability to cry anymore. He wishes he could. It might make the whole thing easier if he could. But instead, he stands with his heart in his throat. He stands with his hand clasping José's on one side, and John Hicks's on the other. He doesn't know if John and Matt were close at all, but a lot of people are doing it. James wants to shake all the detractors by their shoulders. 

He wants to scream in Alex Wilson's face and ask him if he still thinks it's okay now that Matt is dead. 

It doesn't matter. The show must go on and the Judicators stay near the dugout, and while they're all heading over there, Bregman moves away from the rest of his team, he talks with Mikie and Jacoby for a moment, bowing his head and squeezing on Mikie's elbow. 

James watches, maybe fascinated, before the three look over at him. James approaches, when Jacoby gestures for him to do so. It's weird, it just feels weird. 

"I'm on your side, man," Alex says, "if you need more people to throw in. I'll try and find some other people. You're doing a good job." 

James frowns. 

He looks at where the video board still has Matt's picture on it. 

"Not good enough." James feels choked up about it and Alex reaches out and pats him on the shoulder. 

"It's not your fault." 

James will blame himself. They lose the game, but it doesn't even matter, really. 

*

James and José are at James's apartment when there's a knock on the door. Suspicion has run rampant through him, so he checks who it is before opening the door. Mikie is on the porch with Jacoby nearby and Bregman. Which-- James does find odd, but he opens the door anyways. 

James shuts the door and leads them into the living room. José is still on the couch, reading through something on his phone, and Bregman bumps his knuckles into José's and then helps himself to a beer as he sprawls on the empty spot on the couch. 

"Breggy is a witch," Jacoby says with a shrug. "He wants to help too." 

James nods. 

"What kind of powers you got?" James asks and he sits on the arm of the couch near José. 

"Nothing too special. Just intuition man. I can feel shit. Where the ball is going to go, playing the field you know." 

"Interesting." James doesn't know how useful it is. 

"Wouldn't that be empathy, if you feel stuff?" José asks. 

"I dunno man, it's just what I got." Bregman shakes his head. 

"I'm surprised you came forward, with JV being so… vocally opposed." 

Bregman makes a face and James wonders if it's a sore spot. But he has to imagine it is. Like the way José feels about Victor. It's just the nature of it. Not everyone is on their side, but it has to be more impactful, if someone was actively against magic and you were a witch. James can't relate to that. 

Not really. 

"Man, fuck that guy," Bregman says, "he's great at what he does, but I don't know." 

"You don't know what?" Mikie asks and he sits down next to Bregman and steals his beer, James watches as they play fight over it and for a moment, things don't seem as hopeless or shitty. James knows they _are_ , but for a moment it doesn't feel like it. 

"I don't know about JV. You ever get the feeling like, he's _too_ vocal about it?" 

Mikie gives him a look. 

"I mean like, he acts anti-witch because he is one and it throws off suspicion?" Bregman suggests. James frowns. It sounds unreasonable, but at the same time. 

"Self hating?" José asks and Bregman nods slowly. It'd make sense, in a way… but it's still ridiculous to think of. 

"You could ask him." Jacoby suggests and Bregman shakes his head. 

"We ain't friends. Altuve might be able to though." 

"If you want to help, we need more people opposing the Judicators anyways. You might want to start with seeing who on your team is sympathetic. We can give them the skills to help protect you and whoever else on your team is a witch." 

Bregman nods. 

"I'll see what I can find out." 

*

**New York Mets Outfielder Michael Conforto Reported Missing**   
_ESPN News Services 2:18 PM EST_

Michael Conforto has been reported missing following a 7 game suspension for missing practice and the game versus the Phillies on Sep. 08. Although he was suspended without pay, he was expected to travel with the team to start after his suspension was over versus the Red Sox on the 16th. 

After there had been no contact following the initial suspension notice, and he did not show up to travel with the team on Friday morning. 

Authorities say that they arrived at his house on Friday evening after the manager, worried for his safety, called them to see if something had happened to him. Following the investigation of the apartment, and that no one has heard from him including his parents, Conforto has been reported as missing. 

If anyone has any details regarding his whereabouts, please contact the Mets' front office at 1 718-507-8499.

* 

"What do you think happened to Conforto?" Nick asks. They're huddled around a table in the cafeteria, with the news playing in the background. José shakes his head. 

"I dunno," José says and James wonders. His suspension, his lack of showing up, didn't seem to be related to anything. He'd checked, but the Mets had remained relatively untouched by the magical suspension rulings. There'd only been comments, from angry fans in division, calling for deGrom to be suspended since he was clearly violating the rules. 

But nothing had come of it and James wonders what had set Conforto off. It's so hard to make it in the majors, he can't imagine why he'd suddenly just top showing up. And then to be completely gone. James can't really fathom it at all. 

And the mysterious text conversation is still plaguing him, waiting for more information, wondering what that stranger knew. If it was even valid, when he finally received it. There's too much going on. So much that it almost feels overwhelming. 

"It's so weird." James agrees. 

Nick shakes his head and goes back to eating. 

*

**things are getting really scary, are you gonna be okay?**

_yeah, just keep the boys safe, that's the priority number one. and yourself_

**what about you, jimmy?**

_i'll be fine it's almost the end of the season anyways_. 

*

They're in the final stretch of the season, it's going to be time for most people to pack up and go home. James doesn't remember the exact day they were officially eliminated from playoff contention, but he's not surprised. Everything seems so bad and so heavy. 

Miggy's been injured, the clubhouse is divided, and the strain is starting to show tiny cracks in the foundations of everything. James wishes he was surprised, but he's not. 

It's one of the last few days off before the end of the season for them, and James has brought José to his apartment, just to make sure he can keep an eye on him, make sure that he doesn't go off and turn himself in, like he's thought about doing more than once. 

There's an envelope taped to the door when they get back from lunch. It says _James_ in some sort of flowery writing, where everything swirls and loops largely. He doesn't know anything about handwriting analysis but if he did, he'd probably try and figure out who it's from. 

He opens it to a letter. 

"I don't like this," José says, after they've read the letter. James relates, though, to whoever the letter writer is. There's a bunch of people who wear 24. He can think of a couple of them off the top of his head. Some of them, close enough to the Tigers that it could be any one of them. 

Though it's hard to imagine Andrew Miller penning this letter. But he doesn't recognize the handwriting. And maybe the 24 isn't their number now, but something else. A way to keep secret. 

There's not even an indication it's a sign off, with the period at the end, maybe it's time they have left. Maybe he's seen a date. Maybe tomorrow is going to be the last day. James pushes the letter to the side, it flutters to the floor, and he wraps his arms around José as tightly as he can. 

"I love you so much," James says and he buries his face against José's shoulder. "I was waiting for the right time to say it, some grand declaration or romantic excursion, something memorable or whatever." 

José laughs, but they both know it's not funny. 

"Now I don't even know if we'll have the time." James bites his lower lip. 

"I been having a bad feeling lately. I don't know what to do about it, but it ain't gone since the news of Matt got broke. Since you said you might turn yourself in but that ain't the way." 

"I think it is." José strokes his fingers lightly over James's face and then presses their mouths together, it's brief, and chaste. "I think, nothing is gonna change if I keep hiding." 

James swallows roughly, feels like he's swallowing down acid. 

"Just give me some more time, the season's almost over, if we don't have it figured out by then, you can do what you want but I don't--" 

James trails off and his voice breaks. "I can't lose ya, José. Not right when I found ya." 

José is quiet, but James holds him tighter. Digs his fingertips in his shoulders and vows to never let go of him if that's what it takes to keep him safe. 

*

Their last series of the season is versus a very hot Brewers team. Something about seeing Hernán again in this context feels strange. Knowing that it's all business. He's torn, though, wanting to see his old friend.

Wanting to protect him too. Something pings in his heart when he sees Hernán again. Like it usually does. Like it hasn't been a couple of years and he's still in love.

It'd be embarrassing except for the fact that he never really got over Hernán. 

Not that he doesn't love José. Or that he's upset with how his life shook out, for the most part, but Hernàn has always felt like coming home. They chat a bit before the game, mindless shit, while other players are milling about nearby. 

There are faint words in the air, the feeling of words and images pressing into his mind. 

_this doesn't feel safe…_

And James thinks back as hard as he can that he won't let anyone or anything hurt Hernán. The Judicators circle at the edges of the field like he can only see them in periphery. James shudders. There's only so much that they all can do. 

"Can we meet after?" James asks and it feels almost hopeful. Hernàn's brow raises and he shakes his head. He understands, even if he doesn't like it. 

James claps him on the shoulder and then turns back to José. He looks like he's shimmering in the late September sun. 

It feels good. 

*

They limp into the offseason. They drop their final five games only just barely avoiding a 100-loss season. It's honestly-- James isn't sure what to think about it. It's sad but there's so much sadness that he thinks if he sits down and really gives it a thought, he'd never stop crying. 

And James knows he's not a sensitive man. He was raised with a lot of a tough-guy mentality. He tried to hide his emotions and it was bad, it was what had caused the end of his relationship, pretty much, with Jess. And with Hernàn too, to a certain point. 

He's trying to be better, but he knows he's not there yet. He's trying with José because it feels like he has way too much to lose now. 

He wishes that it wasn't the end of the season. He wishes there was some resolution. 

"You think the rules will change? Now that all that stuff has happened?" José asks him as they pack up for the year and he shakes his head slightly. Tries to think of anything that could change, but he thinks it won't. At least not for the better; he thinks it might get worse. 

He can think of all the ways it could be worse. Maybe they won't be so lucky next time, maybe their numbers will keep thinning out, maybe their resistance will never get off the ground and they'll be left protecting who they can in pockets, when they can. 

Maybe José will get grabbed once he goes back to Miami, and James heads back out to California. 

The world is wide open in a bad way. 

José invites him to stay with him in Miami, just for a little while, but he assures James it's not because he's scared. It doesn't matter if he is, they all are. Who knows what next year is going to bring. Maybe he'll stay more than just a little while. 

Maybe José will want him to stay forever. 

*

It ends, much in the way it all began-- high profile, explosive, televised with the masses of people looking on. In Yankee Stadium, with the Yankees up over the Red Sox, vying for a spot in the ALCS. It's in New York and James is only in town because he's visiting family. Every single cell in him is compelling him to the stadium, nerve endings singing with something he's never felt before. 

It scares James, in a deep way, like being afraid of the dark as a child. There's a shimmery kind of barrier over the stadium and he slips through, past people hurrying out, crowds of hushed spectators and he sees on the diamond, both teams almost cowering there and the Judicators hovering on the edges of the field like statues. 

There's a person-- someone or _something_ standing in the middle, center, near the pitchers mound, swirling red aura around him that almost feels hot, even from his place in the stands. No one else seems to be bothered, but he can feel it in waves, setting his teeth on edge. James goes down the cement steps, routes around the ushers, to try and get near the wall. 

It feels important. It _is_ important. 

James knows this is all madness. All of it. The Judicators, the way the league lets them do whatever they want-- one of the biggest matchups, most iconic rivalries, and the game is stopped dead because of something. Some of the players are cowering. He sees a flash _24_ in Yankee pinstripes. He dismisses it from his mind. 

And he recognizes who it is in the center. Conforto. He's nearly glowing with rage, the sigils broken out all over his skin like a rash, it smells like fire-- hot and burning his nasal passages as he breathes in. Maybe James is going to melt like this, but he persists. 

It has to end. 

James puts his hands up to the aura and watches as his hands become bathed in white flames. 

"Don't move any closer," Michael shrieks at him, his voice hysterical, panicked. He's scared too. His eyes are darting around like a wild animal's, shifting from side to side, waiting for someone to attack him. James can sense it, like he links into José's mind sometimes. 

He doesn't mean to, but he knows with his lineage he can do it, sometimes, mostly twisted landscapes when it happens in dreams. James can feel the distress, the rage, the sadness. It hits him like a suckerpunch and makes him stumble. For a moment. 

He knows he can suppress. 

He can _amplify_. 

"It's okay," James says, keeps his hands raised, "I'm not here to hurt you."

"Yes you are," Michael says. "I can sense it, you're one of them, you want to help them." 

"No." James shakes his head. "I promise, Michael, I'm here to help, I can help." It's going to hurt. James can feel it and his heart throbs achingly. 

"We have to let them know." 

James steps forward, finally near enough to Michael, he can touch him, his hands settle on Michael's shoulders and his fingertips feel seared. He pulls him into a hug anyway-- and then he focuses. Suppression. The aura dies down, the heat fading, as the sounds of the crowd pick up, confused murmuring, people snapping photos. 

"They have to know," Michael says again and James nods.

James lets his guard down and the feeling channels through him-- hot white fire like a lance through his chest-- and in his head, the vivid imagery of the reassignment camps, the things that had happened to Matt, to Mike, to everyone -- 

James doesn't know what else as he slips from the world. 

*

He wakes up in a hospital, monitors beeping, and the smell of antiseptic stinging his nose. He sees the faint impression of red runes dotting over his skin, looking like burn marks, or birthmarks. His hand is being gripped tightly. 

José's asleep next to him, probably waiting for him to wake up and the news ticker on the bottom of the screen shows him what he really wants to see. 

_Following public outcry, the MLBPA has disbanded the joint committee on supernatural regulatory measures and Rev. Timothy Cleary will be facing jail time, following unconventional methods in determining…_

James looks away and squeezes José's hand. José's dark eyes flicker open and their gazes meet and James grunts as José all but flings himself into James's arms. He holds him close, but keeps looking at the scars over his skin, wondering if they'll ever fade, but probably not. 

He finds later, a symbol that looks like a counterpoint to José's on his chest and he thinks about how it started, how he first took notice. 

It all ends with a permanent mark; his fingers trace the scar before he puts his clothes back on. He's free to go. 

They're free to live. 

"Let's go home," James says and he draws José close to him, tight to him. 

Something lurks on the shadow of his mind, something intrusive, deadly. But it's gone in a flicker of an instant and James thinks he imagined it. 

"Yeah, let's," José says, clearly sensing it too. But that's tomorrow's problem, or maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's everything. 

Only next season would tell.


End file.
